


The Left Behind And Broken

by neverminetohold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Dark, Episode: s05e10 Abandon All Hope..., Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam said 'yes', the devil is on the loose and Dean has got one year to set it all to rights, if he even can - and Lucifer's former vessel Nick is on board for the ride...</p><p>Part One of the 'Tainted' Series.</p><p>Dislaimer: “Supernatural” is the property of WarnerBros & The CW and the mastermind Eric Kripke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Left Behind And Broken

Dean skittered to a stop, the broken glass on the floor crunched loudly under the soles of his shoes. He took a deep breath, needing it before he could even think about tackling the next flight of stairs, he was still shaky from whatever drugs the demon's had given him. The Colt's barrel thudded against the banister, Dean could barely hold onto it. He really shouldn't make a sport of forcing his way out of handcuffs – but at least this time he had managed to pop his thumb back into its socket.

“Shit!” he muttered with feeling, his right hand curled gingerly at his side as he moved on, dreading what he would find in the hotel's conference room. It was too silent, only the stairs creaked no matter how careful Dean placed his feet. He tried not to think – Dean was very good at not thinking about something, even if it gnawed on his insides.

They shouldn't have come here. The place had had spelled 'trap' over it in capital letters as soon as they had gotten the info that Lucifer would be here to summon Death. Granted, they had busted that gig just fine, saving a bunch of townsfolk in the process and bought one year time till Luci could try again. But then everything had gone to shit, like it always did – damn Winchester luck.

Sam's headaches, leftovers from dreams poisoned by the devil's whisperings, should have been the cue for them to hightail it as long as they still could. But no, Sammy had played his trump card - puppy eyes – to get Dean to try and use the Colt on Lucifer. One ambush and Dean's Prison Break worthy stunt later the hotel was as silent as a grave – and, oh right, he shouldn't forget to put Cas vanishing on his 'to worry over' list.

It was a newbie's mistake, really, but Dean couldn't help calling out “Sam!” when he reached the top of the stairs. Yeah, that gnawing feeling was definitely the kind of terror only family could fill you with.

“Dean,” a voice full of gravel answered – familiar, but not the right one, the one he had hoped for like a fool. Good things just didn't happen.

One step into the conference room and Dean knew beyond any doubts he had not had to begin with, that everything was lost. He wondered why that realization didn't feel like a sucker punch, because it should when your little brother said 'yes' to the devil. Maybe it was shock or just one betrayal too many – he was tired and sick of it, all of it. But keeping on moving, that was what he did, what he had promised.

“Cas,” Dean answered and it sounded as hollow as the wind whistling through the hole where a window was supposed to be; glass lay strewn everywhere, small splinters and shards – fitting somehow, almost symbolic.

The angel stood trapped in a ring of Holy Fire, the flames spreading both a golden light and the fragrance of frankincense over the corpses littering the ground like trash. His shadow flickered eerily over the walls, the ceiling and Dean could see the outline of tattered wings when he concentrated.

Castiel's gaze was sharp as always, probably looking straight to the dark bottom of Dean's soul and whatever the angel saw there, he was wise enough not to mention Sam. Not that Dean needed any explanation – one of the corpses was Lucifer's old 'plan b' meat suit, lying in a small pool of blood.

“There is a fire extinguisher,” Castiel pointed out, as if Dean weren't already on his way to get it, but maybe even angels needed to fill the silence sometimes. It wouldn't have been the first human habit he had picked up.

Dean ripped the red cylinder out of its housing with little care for his hands, they felt as numb as the rest of him anyway, but the metal must have bitten into his palms. He stepped over a motionless child, pulled the pin when he was close enough and aimed the white foam at the base of the flames, moving the nozzle in slow sweeping movements to not waste the 10 seconds worth of pressure the thing's got. The flames guttered out with a hiss and Castiel left the darkened circle in a blink, revealing how uneasy he had been, trapped inside.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Nodding in acknowledgment Dean tossed the empty extinguisher aside, it made a soft thump-noise on impact instead of clattering loudly onto the bare ground, but he didn't look. He wondered when he would start to scream or cry or press the Colt to his temple. Sammy was gone, Lucifer's condom and that should have made him want to do all of the above. Instead, Dean observed how Castiel walked over to inspect the dead vessel the demon's had left behind.

Only that the guy was not as dead as he had seemed – he groaned weakly when Castiel stepped closer, cringing away from the angel.

Dean had not consciously decided to move, but he suddenly found himself standing between the former vessel and the sharp point of Castiel's sword. He couldn't decide who was more shocked by that development.

“Cas, what the hell do you think you're doing?”

“He is tainted and needs to be killed – it is an act of mercy, Dean. You must remember Raphael's vessel,” Castiel said without batting an eye but Dean moved with him when he tried to shift to the side and finish the job.

Dean glanced over his shoulder and caught blue eyes flickering open in a pale face, they stared up at him at an odd angle, the man struggling to remain conscious. That wasn't the look of a guy who wanted to lie down and die after being ridden to a bloody pulp by Lucifer. Dean couldn't even blame him for saying 'yes' – he couldn't have known what exactly he had signed up for, the devil was a smooth talker, after all. And Sam had gone and done the same – Dean wouldn't be able to kill him either when it came to that - or maybe he could. Things like that seemed to shift nowadays, as if borders and clear black and white outlines had never existed to begin with.

“Not gonna happen, Cas,” Dean said firmly, his eyes locked with Castiel's inhuman blue ones and he was sure that he wouldn't need to say anything more, because his neck prickled the way it always did when the fucking angel read his mind without his permission.

Whatever Castiel picked up while weaving his Vulcan mind-meld mojo he didn't approve of, if his deepening scowl was anything to go by. “Will you care for him, then? Take responsibility for one as tainted in soul and body as him?”

“Dude, you never were that squeamish when it came to the taint in my soul, pulling me out of Hell and all that,” Dean pointed out and held up his hand to forestall any protest. “The answer's yes, I will take responsibility for the guy. I – I'll think of something.”

Dean wondered what made him say that and if he would regret this spur of the moment decision later, like he so often did, but he couldn't leave that guy lying here between corpses anymore than he could allow Castiel to kill him.

“If that is your decision,” Castiel conceded, his sword vanishing in the sleeve of his trench coat.

Dean could feel his eyes on him as he knelt down to give Lucifer's vessel a cursory health check: there were two deep gashes roughly on the man's shoulder blades, probably where angel's wings had been and he was covered in frostbite blisters and the typical wounds they had come to associate with the degrading of vessels; checking for broken bones elicited a dull moan. Anything else could have been hidden beneath the shirt or jeans, but the man's pulse under damp skin was steady enough beneath Dean's fingertips.

Dean glanced up when he felt the mild breeze that shuffled the newspaper scraps around him: “Wait up, Cas. I need you to help me getting him into the Impala. I'll never make it alone.”

That fixed scowl deepened even more and Dean silently dared him to object, to tell him that he had to do it himself since he was so keen on saving the man. But Castiel's gaze flickered to his bruised wrist and he nodded, just like that. Small mercies, and all that.

“His name is Nick,” Castiel announced ominously and the next moment his hand fell heavily on Dean's shoulder. Unseen wings fanned open and whisked the three of them away.


End file.
